


The Weight Of Us

by makesmeblue



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gregory is still an asshole boss, Jounalist!Jesus, M/M, Past Abuse, Police!Daryl, The Hilltop (Walking Dead), and alexandria is a small town, cheating (mentioned), hilltop is basically a news portal, the saviors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:41:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesmeblue/pseuds/makesmeblue
Summary: "I like you, Daryl." Paul smiled; his hands on the steering wheel, "and I know that beneath all those layers of steel there's a big, strong heart."Modern AU where Jesus is a journalist, Daryl is a solitary civilian police officer and both are a little broken





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I was waiting to start writing this fanfic since a long time ago and here it is!  
> -I'm not from USA and my first language isn't English, so I apologize if there is any mistake with places or grammar. (I'm still looking for a beta reader to help me with that)
> 
> -This is the translation of the original version in Spanish
> 
> -I'll try to update once a week

 

Daryl's feet hit the ground for the first time since he left his house that morning. He turned off his motorcycle and took off his helmet, trying to not think how disastrous he would be. He couldn’t blame himself, his phone was not the most actual and therefore his alarm tended to fail continuously.

His boots creaked against the free gravel of the parking lot as he made his way to the building where he worked. Summer in Georgia was coming to an end, with fresh, pleasant mornings and tortuous afternoons full of sweat and mirages on the road. He didn’t know if he was too clothed or if with the arrival of the night he would be grateful to carry his leather vest and a warm shirt.

Daryl made his way to the Alexandria Police Station, ducking his head to avoid being forced to greet anyone who crossed his path. He was not specifically a social butterfly; Daryl recharged energy when he was alone and sometimes he used to felt guilty for not accepting the invitations of his friends to go out.

Luckily he was able to avoid the small crowd of people passing by the sidewalk and was able to successfully climb the steps that led to the entrance door of the police station.

Although Alexandria was an almost insignificant town within Georgia, it had enough movement to catch some delinquent or have some family problem that ended inside the walls of the station. That place full of familiar houses and unexplained desert streets was the result of his people taking public transport to Atlanta to attend their work; those who did not were destined to work there.

Like Daryl and his coworkers.

Inside, the place was a disaster of people going from here to there carrying papers and shouting indications. In the distance, Daryl heard several telephones and people answering them. For someone as calm as he, this was hell itself, so he went deeper into the hallway while he dodged the hurried bodies that crossed his path and greeted him quickly. He saluted them back in an eternal struggle to get to the coffee machine.

He stopped in front of the machine and selected a dark coffee. He needed to gain energy to deal with the disaster that was taking place behind his back, and without a little-much caffeine he thought it would be impossible.

"Daryl!" Tara greeted him. The brunette carried a huge smile and she seemed in a hurry, so the man couldn’t ask what the hell happened and why everyone in the station seemed to be running a race. He watched as the young woman disappeared into the room, bouncing her ponytail.

He just shook his head at the same time he picked up the big cup of coffee and took a sip. Yes, it was crap, and yes, Daryl drank it anyway, thanking his stupid alarm for not ringing and not letting him have a decent breakfast.

"Good morning." A soft but tense voice distracted him from his drink. He turned around; his eyes meeting the light blue of Rick, his friend and co-worker. The man looked affected, his forehead glistened with sweat, and his sheriff's uniform was stained with the same substance.

Daryl was a civilian policeman there, so he did not have to wear that beige shirt and all the paraphernalia, which he was grateful for. He wasn’t a "uniform person" at all.

"Any case?" Daryl inquired, taking another sip of his coffee after nodding in response to the curly one in front of him.

-Philip Blake turned himself in at night. He said he would confess everything, so I think it is a strategy to lower his sentence.

"Who?" Daryl asked, frowning. Rick seemed to believe that he would know who that man was by the way he said it, but he had no idea of that identity. He had never heard that name.

"The Governor," Rick replied. Well, I really don’t know who gave him that nickname because the position he occupied was of intendent. He was in control of Woodbury until it was discovered that it was involved in a network of corruption and assaults, and then he fled. He was a fugitive for five months. He came here and confessed everything, but we must take him to the Tribunal. This is a problem that doesn’t concern us.

"All this mess just for that guy?" Daryl grunted, finishing the coffee and tossing it into the bin.

“Yes. He had a group that robbed other towns to be able to make public works on his own with the money”

"Government money wasn’t enough?"

"He spent it all to his advantage, that's why he collected the money in a dirty way so he wouldn’t be suspicious" Rick scratched his beard of two weeks and continued. “He ordered the killing of some of his partners and paid the court to give him the full custody of his daughter. It’s a national scandal, so it’s believed that the network of corruption doesn’t end in him. We must prevent journalists from knowing and spreading information. That would cause us to have more fugitives and would hinder the investigation.

Daryl nodded, leaning against the wall when other people rushed down the hall. He distinguished Deanna, Alexandria’s intendent, approaching them. The woman greeted them affectionately and faced Rick.

"The Governor's case is raising suspicions, Sheriff." Deanna handed him a newspaper in which it was read as the main title, bold and with a font that occupied almost all the front page. "RUMORS SAY THAT PHILIP ‘THE GOVERNOR' BLAKE HAS BEEN FOUND "and below it, a picture of the same man when he received the command. I will give you a brief summary: the journalists suspect that he may be here, so I suggest that when the patrol is ready to move him you’ll have to be careful. We don’t want unrest; the Court specifically asked us that.

"I'll make sure everything's in order, Deanna," Rick said, grinning at her and being answered with the same gesture from the woman, who squeezed his shoulder before entering the station.

A murmur invaded the room and everything that Daryl could see was a tumult of people surrounding a man. Abraham, the red-haired man with the big mustache, kept him clinging to the handcuffs with one hand and pushing him with the other, while Sasha made his way, communicating with the patrol through a radio, and a large part of the rest of the team protecting his flanks.

Daryl and Rick followed them, checking on both sides of the street to verify that there was no one there. Inside the car, Aaron started the engine and nodded in the direction of the Sheriff.

The Governor's tall figure did not express symptoms of fight, which helped the team to take him to the patrol easily. The man was a reflection of repentance according to his expression, but Daryl immediately rejected that thought by remembering the charges that made him a delinquent. He just watched as he headed to the car with his head down and his eyes on the ground.

The man got into the patrol as best as his handcuffed hands allowed him and once inside, Rick gave Aaron some instructions before hitting the roof of the car in sign that he could leave.

Rick and Daryl stood alone on the edge of the quiet street, watching the patrol fade away as if this were a way to make sure everything went according to plan. The civilian looked at Rick out of the corner of his eye and could almost hear him screaming for going home and taking a nap. He didn’t blame him; he was the one who came first to the police station and who turned off the lights. His was more than pure dedication; Rick not only loved his job, but was also involved in the welfare of the people of Alexandria. Daryl was sure that if his friend and co-worker presented in the next mayoral election, he would definitely be the winner.

Probably Rick was up all night at the police station and he hadn’t closed his eyes in the past hours and Daryl felt guilty for falling asleep and not asking him if he needed his help or company.

"Hey, go get some rest" he whispered in his raspy voice, facing Rick.

“I'm fine. Don’t worry.”

"You look like shit," Daryl confessed, joking, and judging by Rick's tired smile, he accepted his proposal.

Rick inhaled deeply and patted his shoulder, nodding and turning to return to the station.

It was at that moment that Daryl's ears caught a sound, quick and weak, but audible enough to tense his body. It was a _click_.

"Rick, did ya’ hear that?"

The officer stopped his march and turned to look at Daryl. To judge by his rigid position, he was trying to concentrate so he could hear it too.

"What was it?" he asked with worried voice.

"It sounded like a camera," the civilian whispered, turning and beginning to look around.

His partner approached, imitating his revision of the street, checking the sides and stretching his neck to look beyond the sidewalk. Daryl knew that Rick had discovered something immediately when he tensed.

"You!" Rick shouted, advancing a few steps but not crossing the street “What are you doing here?!”

Daryl's eyes searched in the opposite sidewalk. It took him a few seconds to locate the spot where Rick was looking, until he found a half-hidden figure behind a dumpster. It was wearing a hoodie and its head was covered with a hood, preventing half of its face from being seen.

"Get out of there now!" Demanded his mate, and the the hidden person emerged from behind the object, standing in front of them.

He had a thin complexion and he was short. From one of his hands held a camera and kept the other one up in a sign of peace.

"Don’t worry, guys," he said, waving the camera in his hand for the first time “I'm just a tourist. I've been here for a few days and was looking around. I’ll go if you want”

Daryl glanced at Rick at his side, who was studying the person in front of him with both hands on his hip, analyzing the situation. Something was wrong, but his friend seemed too quiet to do anything about it.

"You shouldn’t be walking around here, you can alarm the station.”

"Don’t worry, it won’t happen again." he smiled, shrugging and turning to leave.

Against all odds, Rick started to walk towards him; Daryl was beside him tense and strangely annoyed.

"I'm Rick." The man stopped at the sheriff's voice. "This is Daryl. Who are you?"

The man turned around and took off of his hood. It gave the two men a better view of who was standing on the opposite asphalt. He was a young adult who wasn’t more than thirty-something. His hair, light brown, came a little below his shoulders, and a beard adorned his face. He raised both hands and with a sly smile said:

"Paul Rovia, but my friends call me Jesus. You choose” and without more, he disappeared at a trot, round the corner.

"Jesus ... C’mon," Rick snorted in a laugh, starting his way into the Alexandria Police Station.

Daryl stared at the place where the young man had disappeared. His shoulders were rigid as his brain tried to unite the blind spots in the stranger's story.

"Rick, tourists?" Here? "His eyes evaluated Rick's expression for a moment before his friend approached him and gave him a light blow on the back to start running in the direction where the guy had been running.

The fact of having tourists in that part of the state was practically impossible. Alexandria was a quiet area and away from the city. That man was probably taking pictures when the police transferred the Governor, and that wasn’t good. Not when the Alexandria Police Station was supposed look after that no one outside his walls found out that Philip Blake had surrendered.

Rick and Daryl found the guy halfway down a street in the middle of the small town. He was checking something in his camera, absorbed around him when Rick gave the order to Daryl so he could catch him. The civilian took the guy who called himself Jesus from behind, but instantly got a poke in the middle of his stomach, instinctively twisting at the impact and stumbling.

The young man set out on his way to the other side of the street, avoiding the traffic, which in that part of Alexandria began to increase, since it was one of the obligatory routes for all its inhabitants. Jesus was coming and stopping every time a car allowed him, receiving insults and honking.

For a moment, Daryl felt fear for the man. Maybe it was the natural protection that had been born in him when it came to working as a police officer, maybe he just didn’t want to witness an accident caused by a damn crazy. So he followed him, passing through the wave of vehicles until he managed to catch him again, this time in the middle of the street, with a soundtrack made of honks, insults and middle fingers up.

Jesus fought and got rid of his grip before a motorcycle passed between their bodies. Daryl's heart quickened when he knew that he was almost run over by this, taking a second to look at the trail of dust the driver left and to watch the man in front of him with an expression bordering on anger and surprise.

"Thank you," he mumbled, but to Jesus' amazement, one of Daryl's fists slammed into his left cheek, snapping him out of the battle instantaneously and leaving him numb, on his ass to the ground. Daryl took the camera out of his hand and in a rough voice said, "Now it's my camera!"

Rick came immediately to the place, sharing his gaze between Daryl and the unconscious man on the floor.

"I think we should take him to the station," the sheriff muttered, bending down to pick up Jesus' legs “Help me.”Daryl glared at his friend as he grunted and carried the man under his arms. “You know? It was not necessary to hit him.”

"Son of a bitch is slippery," he grunted and started walking in reverse to the station, being guided by Rick's voice and occasionally looking down to see the wounded man in his hands.

* * *

 

His head was spinning, but there was a specific spot on his left cheek where the pain was concentrated and he could almost feel the blood piling up and starting to create a bruise.

When Paul opened his eyes, the first thing he sensed was that he was sitting on a chair in a hallway. And when he tried to take his hands to his face to rub his eyes and contain the affected area, a pull forced him to accept that he was handcuffed.

Well, great.

With his eyes clear and accepting the idea that he’d have to live with his battered face for a few days, Paul knew he was in trouble. He was arrested. Although it did not affect him like the rest of the people if he was honest; he had been in similar situations before and was beginning to enjoy it. So he just stood there and leaned his head against the wall waiting for his future.

“Jesus? What the fuck? "A familiar voice made his calm fade away. His eyes met Tara, her friend and who luckily was on duty at the station, and the other two policemen (Daryl, who was supposed to be a civilian because of his attire and lack of uniform).

"Hi Tara, it's nice to see you too," he said sarcastically, lifting his both eyebrows lazily.

The brunette was frowning and has her arms crossed, angry, something that wasn’t very usual in her. Paul was fucked.

"What the hell are you doing here?" What did you do? "Paul couldn’t help but stare at her accusing look. “What have we said about this?”

The sheriff stepped in; his face had a confused grimace, probably because of Tara's temper. The other only observed the situation as a ghost; Paul's eyes met his for a moment and the man looked away.

"Yes, this idiot is my friend," Tara confessed, a little calmer now. “Although now I have to consider if being friends with delinquents is good for my reputation” she glared at Paul but this one didn’t get small. Before continuing to argue with him, the brunette faced Rick. "What happened?"

"We caught him taking pictures when we moved the detainee. The case is confidential, so we shouldn’t leak information. "Rick put both of his hands on his hip and examined Paul before asking," What were you doing here? "

"Then it's true." Paul avoided the question. “The Governor turned himself in and you don’t want the press to find out.”

"He asked you a question” Daryl pressed; raspy voice and narrow eyes. Everything about him was intimidating at the time.

"I work for the news portal The Hilltop," the long-haired man confessed. “I thought that if I got a picture of the case I would have a pay rise. But I see that my camera won’t be returned, I’m wrong?

“No” Rick spoke “We’ll confiscate your camera and it’ll get expert opinions. You can have it back after that. In addition you will have to make a sworn statement that you won’t talk about this or about the case, and you must come here to sign once a week for two months.

Tara smiled and Rick watched her for a few seconds. She was enjoying this.

"I need that thing. That camera is my job." Paul's voice came out a little louder this time, but that didn’t seem to bother the trio in front of him.

"Use your phone, Jesus," Tara said, shaking her head “You can leave in a few minutes. Let the man do the paperwork.” she made a gesture towards Rick, who started marching beside her to the desk.

Paul thought he was alone until he looked up and met Daryl’s eyes. The man stood like a statue. Paul studied his figure for a moment without being intimidating, but before he could even speak, Daryl brought him a plate with a cookie and a glass of water and left.

“Mm, my compliments to the chef, but how am I supposed to eat if I have my hands cuffed?”

Daryl narrowed his eyes and walked towards Paul and opened the handcuffs quickly. The warm skin of his hands brushed against the cold, pale Paul's for a second before he ran into the room.

Paul snorted, smiling before he saw the slender figure of a dark-haired woman walk through the door of the police station. He recognized her instantly; Rosita looked at him with a grimace of exasperation, as if discovering the refrigerator empty after arriving home from work.

"Tara told me she had to come immediately. If I had known it was for you being arrested again I wouldn’t have done it”

"My savior," he sighed, rolling his eyes. “I know she called you to pay my bail, and I'll pay you back when I have the money. Don’t worry about—“

"Yes, yes, that's fine. Now let's go before we-

"Rosita?" Abraham stood behind them with a cigar between his lips, waiting for the woman to turn around.

Rosita froze but took Paul's arm, forcing him to walk. He didn’t blame her: that guy had cheated on her with another woman, possibly with one of his co-workers. Jesus had been with Rosita after that painful process of acceptance. He had seen her cry, scream, and even burn the redhead's things.

“Hey, I’m—”

"Shut up, _pendejo_ " she muttered as he made his way to the exit; her nails nailed to Paul's arm.

What an intense morning.

* * *

 

"I’m late, I'm sorry." Paul arrived the building of The Hilltop news portal and placed his bag on his desk, removing his jacket and staying in a button-down shirt.

The place was spacious, open and bright, full of tables, chairs and laptops. What you could expect from any place where a newspaper was published, or in his case, a news portal on the internet. Everywhere there was people typing, handwriting or chatting, carrying large cups of coffee. In the distance, the radio sounded on an FM station.

"I see." Kal, his co-worker, caught his attention by sitting at his desk, not looking at him. Paul imitated him and sank into his chair, turning on his computer. “Gregory asked where you were. I hope you have a good excuse. You know him.”

_Oh, I do._

"Where's your camera?" Kal asked before looking up and almost jumping in his chair. "What happened to your face? Tell me you didn’t get into anything creepy.”

"I'm not allowed to talk about it," Paul whispered, opening the main page of The Hilltop and snooping around on other news portals to see the topics of the day.

"Tell me they didn’t arrest you." Kal looked up, looking at the man sitting on the desk in front of him.

"I can’t talk, I told you," Paul said, although the truth was not that he could not do it, he just didn’t feel like it. He was tired, and a car trip with Rosita upset because that she had to pay his bail and having crossed with Abraham wasn’t a fun ride. The woman worked with to him in Hilltop like secretary, reason why he had to put up with her temperament until arriving at the building.

Kal snorted and returned to his work when Gregory, his boss, entered the room.

"Jesus, where were you?" Asked the gray-haired man, dressed too elegant for the occasion, as always, with his gray coat and classy trousers. He seemed to stare at the damaged area for a second, but he ignored it. “We need to update your news section.”

"I hit my face when I fell out of bed and my car broke down," he lied, because first, Jesus could still feel the fist of that policeman against his cheek, and second, his car had not worked for five months, and it is not as if he was very upset about it. After all, his boss was forgetful; he didn’t care about anyone's private life, unless he had something to do with it. “I assure you that I’ll soon. I'll have everything in order before noon.”

Gregory nodded and set out to return to his office, before turning around and facing Jesus again, scratching his chin. He looked a little nervous.

"And, Jesus," he murmured, pausing to catch the man's gaze. “Don’t post the news of the clandestine bunker.”

"The Sanctuary?" Paul asked, frowning.

“Yes. And could you erase any file and throw away any notation of that case? "Paul nodded, but before he could ask why Gregory's sudden decision, his boss retired quickly, leaving him confused.

"Shit, dude," Kal said, shaking his head, annoyed. “I spent the whole week writing a fucking article of the Sanctuary and now that crazy wants to erase it, what's wrong with him?”

"I don’t know, but I don’t have a good feeling about it," Paul replied, looking down and concentrating on his work, making a mental note about the task Gregory gave him, feeling somewhat intrigued by the discomfort of his boss. He discarded the thought; that was his problem and Paul was not supposed to get into it as long as it didn’t hurt him.

"Good morning, guys," a familiar voice distracted Paul, and made him take his gaze to the woman entering the room. She carried a pile of boxes that blocked her vision and made her stagger. Paul immediately got up from his chair and approached her.

"Let me help you with that." He picked up some boxes, meeting a pair of green eyes and a warm smile. “There you are, Maggie,” he laughed, taking the containers to her desk. "What is all this and how did you carry it up here by yourself?"

The woman's smile vanished immediately as she spotted the bruise on Paul's cheekbone. Then one of his hands landed in the place, taking the man's cheek to see the wound better. Paul thanked the cold contact.

"But what happened to you?" She asked, stroking the cardinal with her fingertips.

"How bad is it?" Paul tried to sound unconcerned, but he couldn’t help hissing as Maggie over press the place.

She frowned, showing her teeth and looking dismayed. The affected area was beginning to turn violaceous, the blood beneath the skin was gathering. Paul knew that it would take a good couple of days to disappear.

"If you are like this, I do not want to know how the other one is," she joked; she pulled away from him and headed to the little refrigerator they had in the work area, right next to the candy vending machine. It was a pretty nice place and equipped to pamper himself in the middle of his shift. She took out an ice pack from it and handed it to the bearded man, who brought it to his cheek, closing his eyes in the cold. “Ice will help with swelling. What happened?”

Paul took Maggie’s hand and led her to the woman's office, where they could have some privacy. He closed the door behind them.

"I think Gregory is into something strange," he confessed, leaning against the desk loaded with papers and pictures of Maggie and her husband, Glenn. “He asked me to delete all the files from the Sanctuary’s case.”

"The supposed clandestine casino?"

Paul nodded, bringing a hand to his beard. Maggie raised both eyebrows.

"We'll see what we'll do." She tilted her head, having a better view of Paul and the ice pack on his cheek. “Will you tell me what you've gotten yourself into?

"I wanted to take some pictures of the Governor's case, but some police discovered me, and one of them hit me in the face when he wanted to take off my camera.”

"Jesus ..." she sighed and shook her head. “I appreciate that you did that, but you risked a lot. We can write about the case without posting the photos, you’ll be given all the credit and you will be paid as it should, okay? But first, you'd better go home before that bruise gets uglier. Take the day off.

"But what ‘bout you? Can you with all those boxes you brought?”

The woman sighed and took off some strands of hair that fell on her forehead.

"I grew up on a farm where you had to do heavy work, don’t question my strength. And about their content, the boxes have some things to decorate this place. Glenn and I were given many useless decorations at our wedding, so I thought it would be nice to make the building warmer. "Maggie shrugged and looked around. “Okay, I'll get going, because if I don’t do the job here, Gregory won’t”

If Maggie weren’t on Hilltop, the place would be a disaster. Gregory was the founder, yes, but with the arrival of Maggie the news portal was saved from imminent bankruptcy. The gray-haired man didn’t know much about administration, and the woman looked like an angel fallen from the sky, ready to lead the way. Of course, besides being the cheerful spirit and a motivational spokeswoman in the building, of course, besides being a strong and warm person. Paul thanked for having her as a co-worker.

"Call me if you need help." Paul offered, starting to leave Maggie's office, receiving a smile from the green-eyed.

* * *

 

"Daryl, it's your turn to get some food today," Tara pointed out, sitting at her desk with her legs on the top of it. The girl seemed to have nothing to do, chewing gum and looking at her phone, but Daryl didn’t protest. It was Friday, the day he was assigned to buy something for lunch.

Instead of saying something, the man hit the woman's feet to get Tara off the table. She glared at him as Daryl headed for the exit.

Outside, the streets of Alexandria were already alive; the people were doing their shopping and taking some time to have lunch before returning to their respective jobs.

The heat hit Daryl as soon as he left the station and had no choice but to unbutton his shirt a little. More than anything else, he wished that autumn would advance and that winter would finally come. To his luck he played that this was the last month of summer.

When Daryl spotted the Rhee's pizza shop, he didn’t hesitate to get into the place. His stomach growled immediately when the smell of food came through his nose, feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought that some diners might have heard it.

"Daryl, my friend." Glenn emerged from the kitchen, standing behind the counter with a warm smile. "What are you looking for?"

"Hey," he replied, narrowing his eyes, looking for something on the menu that was displayed on the sign on the wall. “Four pizzas of mozzarella and ham, please, and two big Coca-Cola's.”

Beside her, Daryl could feel like someone else stood, ready to order. He ignored it.

"Of course, in five minutes," Glenn returned inside, possibly passing the order to his cooks.

The boy had started out as a delivery boy and was lucky to meet the daughter of the owner of the pizzeria, Maggie. They had been married for a year and a half. All this had led Hershel, his boss, to have enough confidence in him to make Glenn his right hand and his second in command.

In turn, Glenn is a great friend of Rick and so also of Daryl.

Glenn returned a few seconds later, ready to take care of the other client. His eyes widened, surprised when he faced this person.

"Jesus, here's your order.”

_He had to be kidding ..._

Glenn passed a box of food to the man standing next to Daryl. The body of the tall one froze at the name and glanced sideways at the other. Standing just to his left allowed him a better view of his cheek; this one was somewhat red, beginning to form a bruise.

"Thank you, Glenn." Jesus passed him a couple of bills and paid for the meal.

"Tell Maggie I'll have to stay late for an order. We have to make some groceries for a wedding tomorrow," Glenn said, and suddenly Daryl felt like an outsider at the moment, absorbed and at the same time present in the conversation, not knowing what to say to the man who had just punch a few hours ago.

"Um, I'll have to refuse the favor, mate." The bearded man frowned. “Maggie kicked me out of work. She gave me a day of rest.”

“Oh I'm sorry. I'll manage then. For that there are telephones” the other smiled and said goodbye to Jesus, who passed Daryl's side straight to the exit, without first connecting his mint eyes with his own. A chill ran down the older man's back, who could not help but turn and see the other disappear.

"You know him?" Daryl asked Glenn, pointing his thumb at the exit.

Glenn frowned, but decided not to ask why Daryl was suddenly interested. He just continued to pack the pizzas the civilian ordered.

"He's one of Maggie's co-workers. Although he is actually more than that; he’s like her right hand in business. Without any of them, the news portal they work on would be chaos. He's a good guy. "Glenn passed the stack of boxes over the counter and Daryl gave him his due money. “Thank you, Daryl. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Daryl left the room and started walking back to the station, eventually meeting somebody else who greeted him even though he kept his head down. Because when the town is small, hell is big and everyone knows it. And you're supposed to know everyone alike.

As he looked up, Daryl's eyes met the figure of that Jesus standing on the side of the sidewalk looking at something on his phone; this distracted him enough that he didn’t notice Daryl walking a meter from him. The fact that he had a lock of hair behind his ear allowed Daryl to have a better look at the contusion on his cheek. In a strange way, seeing the bruise there, so fresh, made him feel emptiness in the pit of his stomach, a kind of guilt.

Daryl was not like that, but sometimes he concentrated so bad bad energy inside his chest that it became a damn bomb. He wanted to apologize but there was something inside him that prompted him to follow. The right time and place would already exist.

* * *

 

Paul entered into his small apartment and put the box of fresh food on his kitchen counter and discarded the bag of melted ice in the garbage can.

Looking into his room, he could only sigh. The place was small but for him it was ok, it was cozy, comfortable. He lived on the top floor of a building of only four floors, so Paul had his small room in the attic, making the place where his bed was placed had a small inclination in its ceiling, becoming lower near the window.

Paul had managed to adapt as much as possible to his life, taking advantage of the large shelf on the wall, which because of that slope, was higher on one side than on the other. He had turned it into a library full of old books, new ones, newspapers, CD's and vinyl records. Although the books inhabited everywhere, either in his little bedside table when he fell asleep, or on the kitchen counter.

The studio apartment allowed him access to his bed without even crossing doors and being able to watch television from anywhere in the room.

Paul wasn’t complaining: he used to spend most of the day outside, and hardly ever showed up on those small, white walls like cotton.

Being completely honest, he didn’t want to be there alone. He didn’t want to be locked up just with his own thoughts and travel to dark corners of his head and attract memories that don’t deserve to be revived.

So Paul just tied his hair in a bun and pulled an ibuprofen out of the drawer of his bathroom, trying to avoid the reflection of his face in the mirror even though he couldn’t. That bruise had already accumulated enough blood beneath it that started to turn purple and hurt like hell. He had to admit it: that cop had a good fist.

"This will take time to go," he said in a whisper and left the bathroom, taking the bag of food, a bottle of water and his phone next to his headphones. With only a few steps, Paul reached the window at the end of his room and opened it, passing one leg, then the other, and sat on the old tiles of the building.

Trying to ignore the pain in his cheekbone, he looked for a playlist of jazz songs from the fifties and went to lunch, looking for any excuse to don’t go back in and have to spend the rest of his day locked up in his room.

* * *

 

Daryl braced himself and went through the front door of his house after climbing the steps of his porch. It had been a long day at work, and his shoulders felt heavy.

It was seven o'clock when he entered the darkness of his dining room, groping for the switch with his hand. When he could finally get inside, he dropped the nearest chair and closed his eyes, feeling suddenly without hunger.

There, in that house, Daryl felt like an intruder. There was someone missing, his brother Merle.

He felt so small, so lonely to hear the night birds outside and the clock ticking in the echo of the room; listening to the leak of the poorly closed faucet dragged him into a deep sleep, invaded by a pair of mint eyes that at that moment seemed unfamiliar.

 

 

 


	2. 2

Paul's first visit to the Alexandria Police Station was far from something completely different from a conviction. He had arrived early in the morning before going to work at The Hilltop and had even saved time to be able to have breakfast with Tara and talk to her as if they were at home. All the anger the brown-haired woman had accumulated last week had dissipated after she visited him that Friday afternoon and found him on the roof of his building. A little ice cream and a few beers and all resentment had been eliminated. Although Tara was never really angry.

To his surprise, the police station was really calm that day. So much that he had time to unfold his chatty nature and made some new acquaintances. He could even deal with Sasha. He’d seen Rosita badly when her ex had left her and had a bad image of the woman Abraham was with, but after five minutes of chatting with her, Paul became convinced that she was a really warm and friendly woman.

He was able to explain a little more of his work to Rick and he understood it, thanking him that he had been able to keep the Governor's case a secret.

But then there was Daryl, who every time he passed by, he tried to kill him with his eyes, or ignored him, ducking his head. But Paul tried to catch his attention by keeping his crystalline eyes on him, sometimes failing and so many being greeted with disgust or impassive look. The only thing Paul knew about Daryl Dixon until then was that he couldn’t find a place to start reading him. And he was good at reading people.

His week at work had been a vicious circle, from Gregory being a complete useless, forgetting to make some orders, to Gregory wandering around the place, scratching his gray beard and asking several of his employees to eliminate everything related to the The Saviors case.

That had intrigued Paul even more. Why did the man seem so far gone and because he cared so much that there were no traces of articles related to that case?

That led to Paul deciding to make a mental note in the second week and ask someone at the police station about The Saviors. And Paul knew who he wanted to have a conversation with.

After signing the papers, he found the civilian growling and trying to pour himself a glass of water from the dispenser.

"Hey." Paul greeted but didn’t get an answer. “Mm, I wanted to ask you a question.

"The reception is at the front," growled the other, turning the faucet on and off and getting nothing.

Paul looked at the man and bit his lip. Usually he used to have people respond to him in a friendly way, but Daryl seemed to be a hard-to-chew bone.

"Give it to me," he said, pushing Daryl slightly with his hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of the machine. Paul crouched, looking for something behind the water dispenser. A touch here, an adjustment there, and when he opened the tap he could fill the glass with ice water. “We have one like this where I work. Sometimes it happens the same. "He handed Daryl the glass, who looked at him for a second before taking it. Paul could not help but smile at him.

“Thank you.”

"No problem." Paul waited until Daryl finished drinking the water and decided to ask again. “Have you had any reports about some guys called The Saviors?”

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and tossed the glass away, starting to walk and leaving the bearded man behind.

"I can’t tell you anythin’, not if I know you'll use it to publish it in your newspaper."

Paul trotted after him, dodging some people who crossed his path. Yes, Daryl was a grump, and yes, Paul was an incorrigible insistent.

"It's not for my news portal." he took a few more steps and, as best he could, stood in front of Daryl, preventing him from move on. “Look, I know we didn’t have a good start, but I need you to tell me if you heard about them or not. My boss seems to have a problem with them, because he keeps worrying. I assure you that I won’t do anything with the information you give me.”

Daryl avoided his gaze, but when he lifted his, Paul knew he had won. The taller one crossed the hall, gesturing for him to follow. They both entered a small room full of shelves and drawers, one of which Daryl opened. He concentrated on searching within, reading and rereading the titles of the file folders of the reports.

Paul could not help staring at the man in front of him as he leaned against the doorway. His eyes watched as his arms flexed, as that winged vest fit his torso. Daryl turned, and Paul looked away, trying to hide his obvious examination, making his cheeks turn pink.

"I think you ain’t lucky," Daryl said, closing the drawer. “There’s nothing about those Saviors you say. I would suggest that you should tell your boss to report them, but for now there’s nothing else to do.”

Paul frowned and nodded. Asking Gregory for something like that would involve risking himself; he didn’t want to get into the same mess as his boss, he preferred to look at him from the distance and in the meantime collect information just for himself and Maggie.

"Sorry, I wasted your time. Thank you anyway, "he whispered, and turned away, without first smiling at the civilian police, getting an inquisitive look from Daryl.

***

Daryl was nodding when the clock struck six, the end of his day's work. He would go home and lie down in his bed, letting the tiredness take him away. He didn’t like that, the idea of being alone between four walls and being able to start putting his mind and memories into action. It was easier when he was at work, surrounded by friends and acquaintances even though Daryl didn’t talk much; they kept him distracted.

He got up, feeling his butt numb, and took the helmet of his motorcycle from his desk. Rick came up to him with something in his hand: the camera of that man who called himself Jesus.

"Hey, Daryl, could you do me a favor?" He asked, and he nodded, because the last person in this world that he could reject would be him. Rick had done a lot for him. I promised Michonne to take her to dinner tonight and it's getting late. It's our anniversary. "Rick smiled and Daryl could not help but catch the positive energy his friend emanated. Michonne was a great woman, a complete warrior, and it was nice to have her near when she visited the station. “We finished the revisions of Jesus’ camera and I have to give it to him. The boy needs it for his job and I thought it was right to return it. You’ve to tell him that he doesn’t need to come and sign anymore; his case is closed for lack of danger. Could you do it for me?”

"Sure," he replied.

Rick wrote the address and said goodbye to him with a hug. The truth is that Daryl didn’t want to go; he didn’t want to face the man with the beard. There was something about him that annoyed the civilian; perhaps it was the bad luck of his encounter or the possible fact that Jesus was a very social man. One day at the police station and that guy had talked to everyone on the place more than Daryl did in six years.

He didn’t blame him, Daryl used to be quite isolated. He believed it was his nature, but it went beyond that. Neither did he hate him, because it was practically impossible to hate someone he barely knew. It was a strange feeling, and Daryl did not like that sort of thing. Daryl didn’t like hating on people, he just kept his distance.

The way out to The Hilltop New's Portal was getting more crowded as Daryl got more into the more occupied part of the city. The place was at the edge of Atlanta, so there the traffic, the buildings and extraordinary people of the city were the kings. Daryl was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the sudden surge of people and sound.

The Hilltop was in a building in the middle of the street. It seemed too picturesque to be a place that publishes a newspaper. When Daryl arrived and asked for Jesus, surprisingly the secretary (Rosita, according to the name on her desk) accepted the nickname and told him to go up to the third floor. So he took the elevator.

When he was there, he was greeted by a spacious and colorful room: the walls were filled with paintings and photos, framed news pages and recognition diplomas. He could see decorations hanging everywhere, all too warm to have imagined it before.

But there, right in the middle of the room, a woman rereading something caught her attention.

"Maggie?" He asked more to himself.

She turned around, surprised at first, but with a smile she pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Whatcha doin’ here?”

"I think I should ask that," she laughed.” I think I told you I'm a journalist.”

"But you never told me you worked here."

"I'm sure I did, but it was a long time ago, doesn’t matter." Maggie put down the papers in her hand and looked at the camera between Daryl's. “Oh, that's from Je-

"I'll see you tomorrow, Magg-oh, Daryl." Jesus' eyes widened as he met the other man, especially when he saw the object they had confiscated.

Daryl handed him the camera, and Jesus took it as if it were gold, smiling.” The research is over and you don’t gotta go to the police station again. Rick should’ve given it to you today, but he's very clueless.”

"Great," Jesus replied, admiring the object. He looked up, staring into Daryl's blue eyes and gave him a small smile. “Thank you. It wasn’t necessary, I could have gone there myself.”

"It's nothing." Daryl shrugged.

"Do you know each other?" Maggie interjected, but after a second, she joined the pieces. Daryl could see her wiping the smile from her face as she spread her green eyes between the two men. Yes, she knew about the punch and the camera. “Oh, I get it ... "She nodded and was silent for a second before she spoke again, this time changing the subject. “Anyway, guys. Glenn is supposed to tell you this, but since you're here I'll have to be me. Next weekend, Glenn and I’ll be having a small meeting at home, just family and close friends. We have great news. "She looked radiant. “Besides it's my birthday, of course. That's why I hope to see you both on my father's farm. Come at seven.”

Jesus seemed suddenly sad.

"I'm sorry Maggs, but my car is dead and it will take me a century to get there. I think I’ll can’t go.”

"Oh," Maggie said with dismay, but she lost it in an instant when a light seemed to turn on on her head. “But Daryl is mechanic, he can help you, right?”

Daryl felt the pressure of the big green puppy-eyes that Maggie was giving him. His renegade part shouted at him that no, that he should let that happen, that he should refuse Maggie's offer. But his conscience, the big part of goodness inside his chest, couldn’t resist that look. Without thinking about it, Daryl dropped his shoulders.

"I can do something with it," he whispered, staring up at the giant smile the woman offered. Doubtful to look straight into his eyes, Daryl forced himself to speak to the other man. Jesus smiled too. “Where do you live?”

Jesus walked over to the desk and took a paper sheet, writing his address quickly and passing it to him.

"You can come whenever you want," he said, and then took his bag, giving Maggie a kiss on the cheek. “I'll see you tomorrow. "With a small smile he said good-bye to Daryl. “Thank you.”

Maggie watched as Jesus disappeared into the elevator. Other employees began to leave.

"Thank you for that; I shouldn’t have pressured you. "she frowned, eyes gleaming as she collected her things. “He's a good boy.”

***

Saturday afternoon and Daryl was home alone. The walls seemed to shrink, the couch on which he was reclining was a big monster that threatened to swallow his body; his face was being illuminated by the dim light of television in some stupid comedy; the curtains completely closed, isolating him from the world.

Weekends aren’t worth it when you don’t have anyone to waste them on, and Daryl knew that feeling of emptiness when he heard his own breath bounce against the walls.

A quick glance at the small table beside him and his blue eyes met the note with the letter of Jesus on it. He thought of Maggie and the favor she had asked for.

"Fuck this," he told himself as he stood and went out into the yard, taking his helmet and toolbox, setting on his motorcycle.

Maybe spending his Saturday fixing a good car and with company was better than being alone. He hoped so.

***

The building where Jesus lived was slightly old, and Daryl screamed thousands of insults internally when he knew that he would have to take the stairs to the top floor because of the lack of an elevator. This man seemed to live in a room in the attic when the civilian found himself in front of the door.

Would it be a little boy's behavior if he turned around and left the building? Daryl felt strangely embarrassed and unprotected in the middle of that hall, in front of the red-painted wood. But he forced himself to knock and plant his feet in front of the door until he heard footsteps followed by the hinges of the door creaking. Under the threshold, a less agitated version of Jesus received it; his hair was tied up in a bun and he was wearing an old t-shirt from a band Daryl never heard of.

"Oh, Daryl," he whispered through the door and closed it behind him. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

"I'm doing Maggie a favor," he replied, trying everything he could, but failing, to not sound acid.

"Sure." Jesus smiled, trying to evade Daryl's grumpiness and started  walking down the hall. “The car’s in the garage. Follow me.”

Daryl was not surprised that the parking lot was outdoors. There were not many cars due to the small amount of renters. Jesus stopped right next to a blue 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle and Daryl almost fell off on his ass. He was speechless.

"Do you like it?" Jesus was glowing. “ Because, being honest, it’ is crap.”

"It's a very good car to be crap."

"Am I standing in front of a car lover?" the bearded man asked with a sly grin, crossing his arms.

“Nah. I'm more of a motorcycle dude, but I know how to recognize a good car when I see it. "Daryl walked to the car, inspecting the interior. He did not want to admit it, but he was in love. “These were so much better than all those modern junk” he stood in front of the hood and opened it, beginning to inspect.

"Yes, but it seems to hate me." he shrugged, then turned away from the wall on which he leaned. "Do you want something?"

"Nah," Daryl replied with half of his body inside the car.

“Everything, whatever, if you want something just scream ‘Jesus’."

"Ain´t gonna call you like that," growled the other, his voice bouncing against the metal parts of the vehicle.

"Well, then it will be just Paul." The bearded man disappeared, climbing the outer stairs of the building a second later, leaving Daryl alone, concentrating on his work. But it didn’t last long until he could hear _Paul_ going down the stairs.

In his hand hung two bottles of beer, one of which he held out to Daryl. He watched it for a moment before taking it.

"You don’t have to," he protested, but he still took the bottle and gave it a few sips.

"You said it, you're doing Maggie a favor, and so am I. I don’t want her friend to die dehydrated. Summer here doesn’t seem to want to leave. "Daryl set the bottle aside and turned his attention back to the engine, ignoring Paul's presence a few feet from him. The bearded man just stood there, sitting on one of the steps, occasionally glancing at Daryl unrequitedly.

It's not like he doesn’t want to talk to Daryl, but there was something about him that would not let him talk. Maybe the aura of a lonely person, maybe just the intuition that if Paul said something, Daryl wouldn’t answer. Paul's chattering nature was deactivated by the time the other man was there, with half his body tucked into the car.

"This is ready," Daryl murmured as he wiped the engine oil from his hands with an old rag. He began to save his tools.

"Was it so bad?" Paul asked, approaching and inspecting the car. He turned and went inside, ready to start the engine. This started without any problem, as if he had not been stopped for the past five months. His face lighted up in a wide grin at the roar of his _Chevy_. “Wow, I'd never heard him sound like that. "Paul's eyes met Daryl's for a moment.” Thank you, Daryl.”

He pulled his body from the vehicle and reached into the pocket of his trousers, removing his wallet. Daryl's eyes narrowed at that moment.

“How much do I owe you?”

"Nah. You don’t owe me anything," he replied.

"Oh, please." Paul half-laughed at the discomfort. “You've taken the trouble to come here, waste your time and fix my car, so don’t say I owe you nothing.”

"I did it for Maggie," Daryl mumbled, stepping back. “You don’t owe me anything. " he took the toolbox and passed Paul's side without even looking at him, making his way to his bike, parked on the other side of the garage.

It made the youngest feel emptiness in the center of his chest.

"I know I said this before, but I'll do it again as often as I need." Paul raised his voice, watching Daryl get on his motorcycle and put on his helmet. I know we started very badly, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

"I told you so, I did this for Maggie," Daryl said, turning on the engine. “This doesn’t make us friends.”

"Anyway, I' owe you," Paul answered, a bit muffled, trying to be polite.

Daryl glared at him and went through the gate, leaving a trail of dust behind him. Suddenly the youngest did not understand his sudden attitude.

"Thank you, Maggie," he whispered to himself, climbing the spiral staircase and once inside his room, he dropped into one of the seats in the small kitchen counter, both elbows resting on it, watching the empty apartment.

Everything was so quiet to be a Saturday afternoon. The TV turned off, the music player without sound, the opaque sun coming in through his improvised balcony. Even his little fish seemed to be silent inside his spherical fishbowl.

"Shit, I'm so alone," he muttered, burying his face in his hands.


	3. 3

"Hey, idiot! It's time for you to get out of there! We have a party to go to!”

 

Paul opened his eyes when he heard the screams and rubbed his eyelids to adjust his eyesight to clarity. His body was half in his room (resting on the divan under his window), and half out (with one of his legs on the roof). He had fallen asleep in a strange and uncomfortable position and now his back hurt and his butt was numb.

 

When he turned his sea-green eyes down, he saw Tara with both hands resting on his hip, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Immediately he was worried about her outfit. Shit.

 

"Maggie," he murmured. He looked at the clock hanging on the wall and knew that he had slept for more than three hours. He had remembered that he must wake up before six, so he could have time to get ready and go to the party, but it was late and he must hurry.

 

"Give me a second!" he shouted back at her friend from the window, starting to walk to his closet to take a checked shirt, a pair of black jeans and sneakers. He dressed as fast as he could, stumbling and banging in the meantime. He went to the bathroom, brushed his hair and brushed his teeth.

 

Maybe he should not have had that chamomile tea; that brought him more sleep than he should.

 

At full speed, Paul took the package of the gift he would give Maggie and went down the stairs almost without feeling his feet. No one could blame him; he had had a very busy week at work, blindly fulfilling Gregory's requests, helped Maggie prepare for her birthday and part of her homework, even covered her for a few days when she said she felt sick and couldn’t be there. He also discovered that the photos of Governor's case had been removed from his camera and that he should write a better article without them.

 

"Hello, idiot." Tara caught him in a tight embrace. “Let's go.” she started walking down the street, but Paul stood still, waiting for her to return to him." What’s it?”

 

"My car works," he smiled at her, raising his eyebrows.

 

"Don’t fuck with me!" Tara was suddenly radiant; Paul burst out laughing as his friend started to give little jumps, heading for the parking lot.” I have to ask for a wish, this doesn’t happen often” the brunette stopped in front of the navy blue Chevrolet and parted his brown gaze between him and Paul. “Do the honors.”

 

Paul approached and opened both doors, being a gentleman and allowing the entrance to Tara.

 

"I missed this beauty," she said as she stroked the leather board with her hand. “It brings me great memories of my few days in college," she muttered to himself and then turned to see Paul, who turned on the engine and went through the gate, making his way to the street." How did you manage to make him walk?”

 

"I didn’t, y’know I don’t know anything about cars other than driving them. It was your co-worker.”

 

Tara seemed to think for a moment. His eyebrows were furrowed as she meditated and stared into the street. The sun had already fallen and in its replacement the lights at the side of the asphalt had been lit.

 

"Daryl?" Judging by his tone, Tara was making inferences, probably about Daryl's first bad impression of Paul and vice versa.

 

"Yeah. It's a long story," he hissed. “It was Maggie's idea. Do we have to go get Rosita?” Paul asked at once turning in a corner.

 

"Um, she asked me to send her a message if the terrain was safe, you know." Tara shrugged, checking something on her phone.

 

"Ask you to send her a message to tell her if Abraham and Sasha are there? Wow, that's very mature from her. How is she supposed to get to the Greene's farm on her own? Her car hasn’t been repaired yet.”

 

"She'll ask for a taxi or something.  And, hey, I'm just doing her a favor. I'm being a good friend.”

 

"If you want to do her a favor, tell her to stop. It's been a year already, she can’t avoid them forever. Yeah, the guy was a jerk to cheat on her, but she's going the same way if she doesn’t face him and puts an end to things” Paul sighed before glancing at the woman sitting in the passenger seat.” I know what she means to you, but it's easier to prove it than keep it to yourself.”

 

"What-what the fuck, Jesus?  I-I don’t, no. No, no!” Tara crossed her arms, unable to say anything more. A few minutes passed and a few streets before she spoke again. “You know she doesn’t like girls.”

 

And Paul knew how much Tara was attracted to Rosita. He had seen it since the first day that both girls met in college, before Tara decided to drop out her studies. Fate had reunited them a few years later when Rosita graduated and began working with Paul. He was aware of the affection that existed between the two,  the care and the affection, but he didn’t want to get into an issue that wasn’t his. Maybe time would open their eyes.

 

"It’s worth trying," he exclaimed, a few minutes before he reached the Greene's farm.

 

***

 

Daryl got off his motorcycle as he entered the grounds of Maggie's family farm. The house was fully lit and there were already several vehicles parked near this one. He could see some silhouettes behind the curtains. He could also feel the smell of food mingling in the air as he walked to the door.

 

Daryl was greeted by Maggie, who was in a delicate dress, and was bright. The woman was a goddess.

 

"Happy birthday," he said, being caught in the woman's arms. He handed her the gift package and she accepted it without first welcoming him and telling him that he shouldn’t bothered.

 

The place was flowing with people. Daryl was well aware that Glenn and Maggie were a sociable couple who never let a party go by so they could invite their family and friends. Luckily, he recognized more than half the faces inside the house; he could see many of his co-workers. This was because Glenn used to work at the Alexandria police station, but left that job after meeting Maggie in the middle of a shooting with some criminals. He had been hurt and had found the love of his life at the same time.

 

Rick and Michonne were making conversation with Aaron and Eric in one part of the main room; Tara was playing with Judith, Rick's youngest daughter, and Carl, the oldest, seemed quite amused with Enid, Maggie's niece.

 

But he could also see Maggie's friends. Half an hour later, the secretary of The Hilltop, Rosita, entered the place with several gift bags. It was not until his eyes met Paul Rovia's that he ducked his head and took a long sip of the beer bottle in his hand while following a chat with Morgan, in which the man seemed to speak more than he. Daryl found the conversation with Hershel, Maggie's father somewhat more comfortable.

 

He could watch as Paul tried to dissimulate as he looked at him repeatedly, leaning against the wall, sipping a soda and trying to follow a conversation with Maggie. He could be a good person and apologize for being a complete shit the other day when he left, but Daryl did not usually take courage so easily and put that thought aside.

 

The tables were full of food, the dishes emptied and refilled continuously. The music filled the air at a low and tolerable volume and the murmur of the people made him dizzy. It was not until Beth, the younger sister of the birthday girl, sat on a stool in the middle of the room with a guitar in her hand when everyone was silent. She began to sing a soft melody that hypnotized more than one, to the point that everyone in the room began to sing along with it.

 

_I've got chills._

_They're multiplying._

_And I'm losing control._

_'Cause the power_

_You're supplying,_

_Is electrifying_

_You better shape up,_

_'Cause I need a man_

_And my heart is set on you._

_You better shape up,_

_You better understand_

_To my heart I must be true._

 

 

 

Immediately Daryl could feel a pair of eyes on him; if he thought about it, he could almost feel the heat of his gaze on his neck. Looking up, Paul was staring absently at him. When his eyes met, he tried to conceal it by looking at the folds of the glass in his hands. Daryl thought he saw a slight blush on his cheeks, but instantly put that thought aside; maybe the beer wanted to start to take effect on him.

 

Beth stopped playing and Maggie stepped in, giving her a hug. Glenn approached with a tray full of champagne glasses and behind him Hershel was carrying a huge pink cake with enough candles to count the years Maggie had turned. Her husband handed a drink to each guest, but he avoided giving her one, provoking a pout on the brunette.

 

"There's no alcohol for you today," he said before giving her a small kiss on her lips.

 

Hershel set the cake in the middle of the long table and everyone surrounded it; Maggie settled on the end while her father lit all the matches. The guests sang "Happy Birthday" and she asked for her three wishes and then put out the fire of the candles in one breath.

 

The rest of the people applauded and came up to her to wrap her arms around her and kiss her. Daryl walked up to her shyly as well.

 

"Okay, Glenn and I have a big announcement to make, plus I've been a year older," she giggled, hitting the glass with a spoon to catch everyone's attention. “Soon there will be a new member in our family”  and with that, everyone caught what Maggie meant; Glenn kissed her. “We're going to have a baby!”

 

And so there was another round of hugs and affection for the hostess, who burst into tears. Daryl could not help but smile when he hugged her again. He had helped Rick take care of Judith when she was born, after Lori passed away; he had been chosen as his godfather and could not be more grateful to Rick. Having another baby on his little team sounded so hopeful even for someone as lonely as him.

 

The party started to get louder, with people taking turns playing guitar and singing, doing karaoke and dancing. Rick and Michonne had stolen the spotlight on the dance floor, being followed by the others. Daryl refused several invitations and just stood in the corner of the room watching the others.

 

Especially to Paul, who was pulled by Tara, Rosita and another man with a strange hairstyle, another of Maggie's friends and co-workers. While he was frozen, the two women and Paul danced as if they were really having fun. The young man's long hair bounced and fell like a waterfall on his shoulders; he was pure smiles. Eventually, Maggie and Beth joined to their small group.

 

Daryl was overwhelmed, even more when for the seven hundredth time in the night his eyes met Paul and he smiled at him. He definitely could not do the same, and his best decision was to take his beer bottle and get out. He sat down on the porch stairs and let the night wind take the heat off, while he lighted a cigarette.

 

The woven door behind him swung open and Daryl knew that his solo moment was over. When he turned, Paul was leaning against the door, half-body inside the house and with a hesitant expression.

 

“Oh I'm sorry. I thought there was no one here," he murmured, ready to go back into the house.

 

Maybe it was the big puppy's eyes or the tone of his voice and the way his body seemed to have shrunk, but Daryl relented. He could not be so reluctant as to make the boy afraid to be near him.

 

"It’s fine, you can stay," he said, releasing some of the smoke he had aspirated from his cigarette.

 

Paul seemed to hesitate for a moment, but in the end he went out and sat on one of the porch rails a meter away from Daryl; his legs dangling in the air on either side of the fence. The older man could see sideways how he stared into the darkness of the farm and then looked at the stars.

 

"I thought you were a lonely wolf," he said after a minute of silence. His face was serene; there was no trace of a smile.

 

Daryl took another drag to his cigarette, trying not to look at the bearded man, but failed in the attempt. Paul turned his sea green eyes to the ground, being attacked by a breeze that made his hair strike his face. He took it and hid it behind his ear.

 

"I try not to," Daryl said, throwing his cigarette to the floor and extinguishing it with his foot. He took the pack from his trouser pocket and offered one to Paul, who shook his head.

 

They spent a few minutes without saying anything. Daryl thought it was because there was nothing to talk about, but very inwardly he knew that he was anxious and that if he opened his mouth, maybe he would offend him again. But in spite of everything, he felt comfortable; it was not of those annoying silences. The air was filled with music and voices that came from the inside, with laughter and dishes.

 

A meter away from him, Paul looked pretty amused by the moonlight. Daryl tried to ask a question to end the silence, but when he turned around for the last time, Paul was gone.

 

"Fucking ninja," he murmured, lighting another cigarette.

 

***

 

Past one o'clock, most of the guests had retired. Rick had been the first, carrying Judith asleep in his arms. Daryl wanted to be next, but when he got on his motorcycle, the vehicle seemed to drown and didn’t want to ignite.

 

"Shit." he got out of the bike, examining every part of it, but he could not find anything. Adding to the darkness of the night and his weariness, Daryl didn’t want to bother Hershel and ask for his toolbox. The man and the rest of his family had enough to have to clean up the mess that the party left behind.

 

"Is something wrong?" Maggie appeared behind him with her arms folded, shielding herself from the night chill.

 

"My bike broke down," he said, bending down to inspect ut again.

 

"You know you're welcome here, Daryl. You can stay," the woman offered, approaching him.

 

"Since you're carrying us two, why don’t you take Daryl to his house too?" Tara appeared out of nowhere with Paul and Rosita behind her. “His house isn’t so far away.”

 

"I don’t wanna bother anyone," Daryl murmured, standing up.

 

"You don’t bother me," replied the younger one, smiling at him. In his hand was the key of his car, that Chevrolet of the '70 that Daryl loved. _Tell him no would be refuse a ride in that work of art,_ he thought.

 

“Okay.”

 

Daryl and the rest said goodbye to Maggie, who gave them a tupperware filled with sweets and cookies to each one of them. When he saw the dark blue car glowing in the dark he had to remind himself to stay calm. Paul offered him the passenger seat.

 

"Are we sure you didn’t drink?" Tara asked as she sat in the backseat next to Rosita. “I hope you don’t fail us as our designated driver.”

 

Paul smiled at her, looking at the woman through the rearview mirror and starting to drive. He switched on the radio with a low volume and left it on some FM station.

 

"I'm sober as a rock. I haven’t drunk alcohol all night. You can already feel like a proud mom.”

 

Eventually, Tara and Rosita fell asleep on the other's shoulder after chatting most of the trip. Daryl said nothing, merely looking at the landscape at his side and listening to the music. The company was quiet with Paul almost absent, absorbed without losing sight of the road.

 

The car stopped on the porch of Tara's house, where both women got out of it. Rosita will stay with her for that night because of her exhaustion and because she didn’t want to make his friend drive too much. Paul seemed to suspect something because of his elevated eyebrows in a funny way and the cheeky smile on his lips.

 

Paul started back to his car and was silent for a moment.

 

"I'm sorry about your bike," he said, breaking the silence between them for the second time in the night. “Anyway, I know you can fix it just like you did with this baby. "Paul patted the board affectionately and smiled, catching the older man's eyes for a moment. “Yeah, I’m learning to love him again. Tara told me that you're like the McGiver of Alexandria, you can fix everything, so that lets me say that you can fix your bike. But, while I remember, you couldn’t with that water dispenser the other day, "he joked, receiving a grunt from Daryl.

 

The Chevrolet went silent again, invaded by the faint murmur of the radio. Daryl glanced at the man sitting next to him and felt that heavy guilt in the center of his chest.

 

"Sorry," he murmured, barely audible. Paul did not answer, just frowned and tried to ignore the sudden change of mood “For being a damn idiot the other day. And for hit you in the face.”

 

“It is fine by me. I deserved it. "Paul shrugged and laughed softly. His eyes were now too clear, reflected by the orange streetlights. “I acted like a reckless prick and almost made a motorcycle hit us. And about the other day ... well, I felt bad, but it's okay. We're okay. " his voice grew smaller; Daryl turned to see him, surprised by the docility of his expression. “Not every day is your day; you have the right to feel bad.”

 

 _But not to be shit for no reason_ , Daryl thought. Paul was someone who knew how to accept an apology; if he were someone else, he would probably have pushed the older man out of the car, abandoning him to his fate.

 

“Ugh” Paul complained when a pop song started filling the car. He stretched out his arm, and without taking his eyes off the road, repeatedly changed the radio station until he found one where an old Jazz song was going; Daryl did not have much knowledge about music, but he could recognize the voice of Louis Armstrong. “That's better.”

 

He snorted, trying to hide a smile when he saw Paul drumming his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel and humming the song, probably forgetting his company.

 

"What?" He laughed, turning to face a speechless Daryl.

 

"Nothing," he defended himself with a snort, masking another of his half smiles.

 

"Do you hate it?" The one who drove questioned, faking a wounded tone. Daryl couldn’t help glancing at the man beside him. “The fifties and sixties were a great time. I’d have wanted to be there. You know, the new wave, a new beginning, great hairstyles and good music. I-I'm sorry, I must be overwhelming you. I have a habit of being out of breath by wandering so much. "Paul sighed, shrinking in his seat and mute; Daryl felt uneasiness in the pit of his stomach as the man's grimace faded.

 

"Don’t apologize," he whispered.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Daryl grunted at Paul's still voice and saw a faint smile spread across his face. The man had a tendency to try to find a way to get a smile or a topic of conversation from people; all the opposite to Daryl, that escaped of the others and tried not to generate an impact in them.

 

"I like you, Daryl." Paul smiled his hand on the wheel. “And I know that beneath all those layers of steel there is a big, strong heart” his eyes met his at that moment. Daryl did his best to avoid showing himself as if he'd been in a refrigerator for ten hours, continually denying that the heat on his cheeks wasn’t blushing.

 

He was not used to receiving compliments, less than strangers who had hit his face a month ago.

 

"I think I still owe you something for my car," Paul told him as he parked the car in front of Daryl's house. His voice sounded soft, but Daryl could still feel a laughing tone "What if we're going to eat something? I know a place where the best dishes are served. You know, I know we didn’t start with the right foot, but at least let's try not to get along like a dog and a cat.”

 

"Fuck you," Daryl replied, not sounding offensive; the bearded man shook his head and smiled.

 

"Should I take that as a yes?"

 

Daryl got out of the car, and before he closed the door he dictated his phone number to Paul.

 

"Does Monday at six sounds good to you?"

 

“Whatever” Daryl answered, and before closing the door he said goodbye. “Thank you for bothering to bring me. Goodnight.”

 

“Was nothing. Good night, Daryl” Paul smiled at him, and a minute later disappeared down the street, leaving a halo of red lights behind him.

 

Daryl was not good at making friends, but what the fuck just happened?


End file.
